Zoe Skye Herrera Ramirez 12th Grade North East School of the Arts Rabbit Amy Stengel 1,402 He could hear the shouting going on downstairs through the floor. Through the walls, even, creeping in like the cold did in this old house. Tracing one of the cracks between slats of polished wood, Milo clutched Rabbit and pretended that, with his finger pressing down on the miniscule space, the yelling got a little quieter. Sometimes the pretending did make things seem a little quieter. It was all that concentrating; his new teachers in the second grade were always telling him to concentrate for quiet during spelling tests. This wasn't a spelling test. This was something mean, that he didn't understand, that no one wanted to explain to him. Milo was trying to relax, trying to smooth down Rabbit's fur with one hand, trying to keep tracing the cracks in the floor with the other. The green painted wall by his bed pressed cold to his back, and that was a little grounding, too. But the sounds downstairs had no order. Every time there was a loud sound that held the same tone as mommy's angry voice, he flinched. His shoulders got all scrunched, and his back curled, and he accidentally hurt Rabbit, clutching at her too hard. Rabbit didn't mind. Rabbit was the only one in his whole house who was acting normal. Rabbit was the only one there only for Milo. Daddy didn't like listening to him and mommy at dinner anymore. Mommy always interrupted daddy when he talked to Milo before bed. And neither one liked to look at the other anymore. But Rabbit still made things better. Milo wasn't a little kid anymore. He was still one the smallest boy in his class, the last one it to start growing, but he knew things. He was one of the smartest boys in his class. They were arguing because something was wrong. They were both so angry, he could tell. Neither one of them seemed to know that he could tell. He wasn't a little kid anymore. Milo knew that holding Rabbit shouldn't make him feel better now. But he ​
was​
smart! He knew when he was just pretending really good and when things were actually happening. And the closer he held Rabbit to his chest, the quieter it became. It was a strange quiet; somehow Milo knew that it was a quiet that existed only in his room. He could tell that if he opened the door, they would still be shouting. Milo didn't want to open the door. With a curious look in his eyes (​
his eyes felt so dry, burned, from the effort of concentrating. He'd been concentrating for quiet, but also to keep his eyes from crying​
) Milo looked at Rabbit, his hand on the floor stopping in its movements. He'd had Rabbit since he was a baby. Someone had brought her to the hospital for him on the day he was born; her fur was light brown and worn. The fur used to be fluffy, but now it was a little faded and messy, still soft in the places his hands always went. Her eyes were shiny black beads. The insides of her flopping ears and the bottoms of her flopping arms and legs was barely pink. She looked like comfort, to Milo. Right now, she looked more like comfort than the idea of their family group hugs. 2 He slowly brought the hand not holding her up until he was holding her up to eye level with both hands. Her eyes, a little dulled by now from all the years he's rubbed at them, shone suddenly. Milo started. The bedroom was almost silent now, but in a peaceful way Milo decided all bedrooms should be. And Rabbit, whom he'd always used to believe was alive. Rabbit was now looking at Milo with something almost like an expression on her soft stitched face. He cleared his throat; felt silly, but also not. It was hard to explain. He hoped he'd never have to. ¨Thank you,¨ said Milo. His voice was soft, but his syllables clear ─ and, Rabbit had huge ears. He was sure she could hear him no matter how soft he spoke. She had even made the room all quiet for him. ¨For making it quiet, I mean. Thank you.” Rabbit had no mouth. Her nose was all thread, just a triangle of pink floss all in smooth lines he'd loved to pet when he couldn't fall asleep. Following the downward point of the triangle, there was a thin pink line down the rest of Rabbit´s face. No mouth. He didn't expect her to speak back, but he did expect her to understand. Milo looked at her shining eyes and thought maybe she had. With a decisive nod, more to himself than to Rabbit, he prepared to lower his hands so he was no longer staring at his stuffed rabbit right in the eyes. ¨You're welcome, Milo.” The voice was soft and it felt like comfort pressed right against his ears. His head jerked, and he looked with hard eyes at Rabbit. A sound like a laugh pressed into his head. 3 Milo wasn't hearing it in the room. He was hearing it like a whisper, but a whisper right to his brain. He couldn't describe the tone of it, except that it sounded warm and sad, a little, and familiar. ¨...Rabbit?” ¨Who else would I be?” It was hard to question that voice. It was lulling. It was worn. Of course it was Rabbit´s, Milo decided. The way it sounded, small and instantly okay. He gave the question a split second of thought before focusing his eyes back on Rabbit. A tentative smile spread over his face; he might not have been able to hear the fighting anymore, but he knew it was there, just like he knew it was cold even when he was bundled up. Being protected from something didn’t stop it from being there at all. Rabbit speaking to him in soft tones as she drowned out the argument downstairs seemed too good to be true. Milo wanted to believe it was true anyway. “I can’t imagine you being anyone but who you are,” he replied a few beats too late for the response to follow naturally. Rabbit didn’t seem to mind, however. Milo could tell that she would never try and rush his words, because she could tell how much he wanted to hear hers. “Why is this the first time?” Rabbit had no mouth to twist or smile with. No bones or muscle to shrug with. Her face was open but he could read nothing of this rabbit, this relic from the whole of his past. Milo suddenly, desperately, needed to know why this was the first time. He felt like his eyes would start to burn again if she stopped talking now and he found it was the first and the last time. 4 “Because you need it, Milo. You haven’t need my words before. You haven’t need my quiet before. But I would always have given, had you needed.” “Will you go away? When I stop needing it?” Rabbit had no mouth, and her eyes were black buttons. Still, Milo could tell when the new­found shine in them turned sad, but never lost their warmth. He was glad he’d dulled them over the years. If they were always shiny, he knew this moment wouldn’t feel as special. He didn’t know how he knew. He just did. The room was still near­silent, but it didn’t feel rushed as he waited for her answer. Milo felt her answer would mean more than anything in the world. It would mean more even than opening the door and not losing the quiet. “I’ll only leave if you ever need me to go away. Not a moment before. Not as long as there’s things I can do for you.” Milo nodded. He scrunched his shoulders once, but not as a reflex to keep the yelling out this time. He did it before he unfolded his pretzeled legs. Before he stood up, still gingerly holding Rabbit, and climbed into bed. The room stayed quiet. And Rabbit talked to Milo all until he fell asleep. The intelligence in Rabbit’s button eyes dimmed as she drifted away, too. The door of Milo’s bedroom opened a crack, letting golden light into the room dark with seven p.m. The arguing downstairs had stopped. 5